


The Great Escape

by CelestialSeaWitch



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Harmony - Freeform, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Harry/Hermione - Freeform, One Shot, One-Shot, Oneshot, Post-War, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:54:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28138032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelestialSeaWitch/pseuds/CelestialSeaWitch
Summary: The British Wizarding World needs to cover up their failings regarding the last Wizarding War. They do this by pinning Harry as a dark lord that was bent on the destruction of wizarding society. With no one to turn to and nowhere to go, Harry and Hermione flee Britain. Postwar AU
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Comments: 71
Kudos: 290
Collections: flash harmony stories





	The Great Escape

**Author's Note:**

> This story is born from the concept of that scene in DH where Hermione tells Harry, "we could just stay here." I love the idea that they just built a house in the woods, lived their lives, and screw everyone else. But it's doesn't feel realistic, so I tried to give them a variation of that thought in which it is a bit more.

The Wizarding World had gone mad. 

The end of the war settled around them like a heavy smog. Grey tendrils of smoke gathered at the edges of Hogwarts. Bodies littered the grounds. The sounds of mourning and loss echoed around the broken halls of the castle. 

They’d won. 

It didn’t feel like much of a victory.

In the aftermath of the war, the British Ministry of Magic finally arrived. They brought with them droves of ICW members. The International Confederation of Wizards went through and arrested almost any person they came across. 

Hermione could hear the screams of confusion as the remaining schoolchildren were pulled away from the straggling survivors. The ICW hadn’t been involved in the war. They didn’t know who was guilty and who was innocent. They looked at every face before them and saw only the blood and rage leftover from the war. 

The British Ministry didn’t fight them. Ministry officials wandered the broken halls, intent on following the orders of the international body in charge of them. 

They went after Harry. 

He was the face of the whole war -- especially with Riddle now dead and gone. She saw Harry disappear amongst the crowd. People shifted around him, discretely hiding him in a last show of loyalty before they too were taken into custody by the ICW.

Hermione moved to follow him. She’d followed Harry through hell and back. She couldn’t let him just run off on his own. Ron’s hand clasped around her wrist and stopped her. Her head whipped around and she shot him a look of incredulity. 

“Mum knows members of the ICW,” he told her in an undertone. “We’ll be fine.”

Hermione’s brows drew together. She glanced around. The pure-bloods weren’t being rounded up. Muggle-borns and half-bloods were being torn from the ruined grounds of Hogwarts. Death Eaters were held to the side -- wandless but unharmed. Were they really going to get off scot-free  _ again _ ?

Thousands of people had died. Hogwarts was in ruins. People had been tortured and terrorized for an entire  _ year _ . Had nothing changed? Were the muggle-borns really going to get blamed for this like always?

“I’m not a Weasley,” she told him.

His fingers slipped from her wrist to her hand. “Not yet.” His eyes were hopeful.

Hermione’s gut twisted -- not the reaction she thought she’d have if Ron ever proposed to her. But today was apparently a day full of incredulity and surprise. “And Harry?” The ICW officials were making their way closer to them now. Hermione’s window of opportunity was closing.

“It’s Harry,” Ron said with a roll of his eyes, “he’ll be fi-”

-Hermione tore her hand from his grasp before he could finish the sentence. She turned and disappeared the way Harry had gone.

“Hermione! Hermione!”

She ignored Ron’s shouts.

“She’s trying to escape!” someone shouted -- an ICW member or ministry official, most likely. The crowds converged behind her, blocking the way after her. 

Hermione raced down the halls. She turned and nearly ran right over Luna. “Harry!” she gasped.

Luna nodded. “Room of Requirement. Go quickly!”

Hermione nodded. She spared a moment to give Luna a tight hug that the blonde returned. Hermione dashed off once more. She’d gotten good at running during the war and she pushed herself to use all of her speed to get to the Room of Requirement before Harry left her. 

The fact that Ron thought Harry would get out of this all on his own was both irritating and unsurprising. While Ron was willing to go along with their plans, he often was more amenable to sitting back and watching what his opponent did first. Hermione blamed his excessive chess playing. 

Harry and Hermione did not share Ron’s opinions. They acted first before anyone could hurt them. Perhaps that was because where Ron was relatively safe behind pure-blood laws, Harry and Hermione were more likely to spend their lives in Azkaban if the ministry fancied it. 

The door was still there when she reached the seventh floor. She flung herself through it with a desperate gasp. Harry was waiting for her on the other side.

“We have to go.”

She nodded, too breathless for words. 

Harry held out his hand and she took it without any hesitation. They escaped through the portrait hole and made their way back to Hogs Head. Aberforth was waiting for them.

“They’ve already released a statement,” Aberforth growled furiously. “They’re covering up Riddle’s dark magic.”

“So no one else will try to make the same objects,” Hermione reasoned.

Aberforth nodded. “But it means someone else needs to be blamed for the war.”

“Me.” They turned to stare at Harry. His eyes were hard, his jaw clenched. He stared up at Aberforth with every ounce of his pent up fury. “They’re going to blame the war on me.”

“It won’t be hard,” Aberforth agreed. “The propaganda that Voldemort spread will be the perfect building blocks for it all.”

Hermione moved to the window and hesitantly peered outside. “What about the muggle-borns and half-bloods? They’re being round up.”

“They’ll do what they did last time. Keep them locked up for trials and then release them once things have died down again.”

Hermione turned back to Aberforth, her brows drawn together. “The Death Eaters were also put away last time.”

Harry glared. “Most of them are dead now.”

Shouting was heard from outside. Harry grabbed Hermione’s hand and pulled her from the window. They ducked behind the bar and waited for the shouting to pass. 

“You need to go,” Aberforth told them. “You can’t stay in Britain.”

Hermione looked up from where she was huddled beside Harry on the straw-covered floor of the Hogs Head. “How are we supposed to get out of Britain?”

“Chain apparate,” he told them. “The ICW will have lowered the ward restrictions with the end of the war. It’s the only way to get so many portkeys in so fast. It won’t be down for much longer.”

Hermione turned to Harry. They shared a silent look. “I’ve been to France,” she told him.

He nodded. “I can get us to London in a few jumps.”

“I can do two from London to Paris.”

Aberforth grunted at their plan. “You can access Gringotts from any magical community. They don’t follow our laws, so they shouldn’t report you.”

“We robbed them,” Harry reminded Aberforth. He doubted that the goblins would be very forgiving of that fact.

The old man made a pained face. “Try to get them on your side. Run, if you can’t. Don’t stop until it all dies down and maybe not even then.”

Harry and Hermione nodded. They stood back up. Harry took Hermione’s hand and they apparated away a moment later. Two more  _ pops _ and they were in an alleyway in muggle London. They stayed there as they collected their bearings. The world was spinning around them after the chain apparition. 

“We need supplies,” Hermione gasped, still pulling herself together.

Harry shook his head. “We can’t risk getting caught in England. Ron?”

Hermione looked down. No one said anything. She didn’t have to say anything to explain that Ron wouldn’t leave his family again. Neither of them blamed him after they’d just lost Fred -- but they weren't all that surprised either.

“You could stay,” he told her.

Hermione looked up. Her eyes flashed with fury. “I’m not going to Azkaban.”

He shook his head. “I can’t guarantee that I’ll ever want to come back here.”

Her eyes widened. She’d instinctively thought they’d wait for things to die down before returning. She thought they’d think up a way to get rid of the ICW. That the war wasn’t over. But as she looked at Harry then, she realized he was done. He was done with the Wizarding World. He’d  _ died _ for them and still, they were hunting him down. He was leaving for good.

“All the better I left with you now then, isn’t it?”

He smiled faintly and  _ that _ felt like a victory.

* * *

Sneaking into the Gringotts at Paris was nerve-wracking. Hermione felt positive that they were going to be killed on the spot. But the goblins didn’t even blink at their glamours. Harry had a quiet conversation with a goblin before they were escorted to a private office.

It cost them a lot. It cost them loads of galleons to repay for not only everything they’d broken in Gringotts, but for robbing them in general, and then for fleeing capture. There was a whole host of other transgressions they’d thrown into it and Hermione was fairly certain they were just trying to rob them back. It wouldn’t have surprised her.

Hermione had little to nothing in her vaults. Harry had to pay for it with his family’s money. At the end of it all, he had next to nothing as well. They emptied out both their vaults and exchanged every knut and sickle for the muggle equivalent. 

It wasn’t a lot, but they hoped it’d be enough to get them set up somewhere new. They grabbed a seedy motel, showered, ate discount sandwiches from a cafe and slept fitfully. After a year on the run, neither thought they’d ever be able to sleep well again.

“France feels too close,” Hermione whispered to him in the middle of the night, while they were both wide awake once more. The moon filtered into the room and spread across the bed. Hermione was snuggled under the covers in one of Harry’s old jumpers. “We’re right next to Britain and that’s dangerous.”

“Trying to go somewhere further would require a portkey,” he argued. “That’s more dangerous, isn’t it?”

“I’m sure there are illegal portkeys all the time,” she reasoned.

He made a face. “Not an option. Well…” He turned to her and squinted. He wasn’t wearing his glasses. “What about a plane?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Do you have a passport?”

“I could look at yours and we could transfigure one, couldn’t we?”

“And when they put into the system?”

“Charm them,” he said with a shrug.

Hermione sat up and rested her head in her hand. The idea had merit. “But the Wizarding World has monitors on muggles. They’d be able to track down who was charmed, figure out the flight, and possibly figure out exactly where we’ve run off to.”

“A train,” he decided. “We’ll take a train and I can use my cloak if we need to. You speak French. So, I like the idea of staying somewhere that would benefit us. Sure, we’re near England now, but France is huge.” He sat up in the bed and Hermione followed suit. “Where aren’t there big magical communities in France?”

Hermione wrinkled her nose as she thought about it. “ _ Nice la Belle _ ,” she said in her mother’s native tongue. Helena Granger had been born and raised in France after her parents immigrated there from India. Helena had raised Hermione to speak French alongside her father’s English and had taken her there multiple times as she was growing up.

“It’s in the southern part of France,” she told him. “Most of the port areas along there have been abandoned by magical societies. Muggles flocked there with the rise of exports through boats and the magical community fled more inland. Paris is the main area for magical folk in France. I think we’d be far enough off that we could hide there. I’m not sure if we could stay forever, though.”

“We might have to abandon magic,” Harry warned her.

Hermione frowned. She couldn’t say she was exactly pleased with the idea. But if it was magicless life versus a life in Azkaban -- which they would surely be facing now that had they fled -- then she would take a magicless life, any day.

* * *

It was a three-hour train ride from Paris to Marseille. The bus from there to Nice wasn’t for several hours and the two found themselves wandering the old streets filled with green trees and a fusion of locals and tourists. 

It was lovely. The ocean wasn’t far off and the warmth of the sun on their skin felt like a balm to their emotional and physical wounds. It wasn’t until they were standing before Notre Dame that Hermione’s breath caught. Tears filled her eyes. 

Harry’s fingers wrapped around her own. They stood under the gleaming, colourful mosaic ceiling as a feeling of lonliness swept over them. They were on their own. Completely alone. They’d  _ left _ . 

There was no turning back now. 

They didn’t catch their bus to Nice. They stayed in Marseille for another day -- which turned into two -- which turned into a week. 

They found a flat right on the water. It was a little one bedroom with an L-shaped kitchen and a balcony. Almost all of their combined money went into it and a bed for them to sleep on. They spent their first night in their new home sitting on the floor of their empty living room, drinking cheap wine and snacking on street food from the vendors along the beach. 

Hermione set out to find a job the very next day and was fairly successful. She was a pretty girl with a bright personality and she was fluent in the language. Doors would simply open for her.

She got a job on a til in a little boutique and they celebrated with chocolate croissants and a walk through Notre Dame. It was Hermione’s favourite place to go to. 

Things were not quite so easy for Harry. He was slowly getting the hang of the language, but he was better at understanding it than he would likely ever be at actually speaking it. Money was tight and they had to be careful to make sure they could meet next month’s rent. 

He eventually stumbled upon an ad for teaching English to children as a second language. It took some time for Harry and Hermione to work out exactly how to fake his credentials since Hogwarts wasn’t exactly applicable. It wasn’t something they’d had a problem with for Hermione’s simple shopkeeping job. 

They applied together. When they were called for the jobs, they went back to Notre Dame with croissants and espressos.

* * *

Harry and Hermione fell into their jobs easily. They were such opposing forces in a classroom. Hermione inspired the large changes in her classes' skill-levels. Her students excelled rapidly without stressing out. She was constantly making new projects and assignments that would bring a flair of creative fun to a lesson. 

Meanwhile, Harry was given the toughest classroom. His students were wild and loud. They refused to listen to anyone -- except for Harry. He calmed the troubled ones. He understood the quiet ones. The students resonated with him on a level that was awe-inspiring. He took his classroom of troublemakers and turned them into a group of happy, excitable children once more. 

Harry and Hermione found that they loved teaching. They got along with their co-workers and adored their students. They settled into the routine of school life as a teacher far more easily than they thought they would.

“Drinks?” Charlie asked. He was a British teacher that worked with one of the older classes. 

Hermione wrinkled her nose as she looked up from the test she was marking. She glanced over at Harry, who actually looked amendable to the idea. Their coworkers were party-goers and the two rarely joined in.

“That place you were telling me about?” he asked. Charlie nodded. Harry turned to Hermione and raised his eyebrows. She made a face. “Just one drink.”

“Come on, Hermione. Let the boy have some fun,” Charlie whined. They all thought Harry and Hermione were together. They had since day one and neither had done anything to dissuade their thinking. 

A little grin teased the edges of Harry’s lips. Hermione could never say no to Harry. 

One drink turned into two -- which turned into four.

Harry and Hermione stumbled through the door of their flat as they giggled loudly. The door slammed loudly behind them. Hermione fell back against it with a short huff. Harry leaned into her with a teasing smile. 

“Why, Miss. Hermione, I think you’re drunk.”

“You’re drunk,” she slurred back and then burst into giggles. She was so pretty. Her curls were almost blonde from the French beaches. Her skin was growing darker by the day. She had more freckles than she'd ever had before. Her brown eyes shone and glittered with happiness. Harry thought she was the most beautiful person he'd ever known. His heart ached when he stared at her at night. They'd lie together each night and his heart would constrict in his chest with wonder and love. 

How had he gotten so lucky to have her be his everything?

Harry kissed her. It was sloppy and a bit wet. He pulled back and they stared into each other’s eyes. “You’re drunk,” she whispered.

She tugged him back towards her at the same time that he ducked his head forward. They kissed again under the cover of darkness, like a secret that would never be told. They barely made it to the bed before Harry was bending her over. Her skin was as warm as sunshine. He tasted every freckle on her shoulders. He worshipped the dips and bends of her body. She was glorious and he lost himself in the feel of her.

She laid beside him afterwards. The moon had come out from behind the clouds and his lashes cast shadows across his cheekbones. She ran her fingers in light swirls across his chest. Hermione guessed their coworkers weren’t wrong about she and Harry being a couple after all. 

He wasn’t as skinny as the last time they’d done it -- in the middle of the war in that smelly old tent. They’d both been eating properly and taking vitamins. They’d gained back a lot of weight and in Harry’s case, muscle too. She wrapped her leg around his own and snuggled into his side. 

She never wanted this moment to end.

* * *

They were declared dead in Britain.

The information came to them through their galleon. Hermione still had hers from the DA meetings and someone had reversed engineered the charms. She guessed either Luna or Neville or a combination of the two. Somehow, they’d gotten the letters to change along with the numbers on the little gold coin. It took a long time, but eventually, the entire message came across.

_ Declared dead. People still looking. Don’t trust anyone.  _

Harry and Hermione sat at their kitchen table in their flat in Marseille. They stared at the offending galleon on the table that had popped the little bubble of bliss they’d found themselves in.

“We have enough money to leave now and passports for a flight.”

“But we like it here,” Hermione argued. They had never intended to stay for so long, but they'd grown comfortable over the year that they'd been there.

“That doesn’t make it safe.”

“We haven’t seen any magic since we got here.”

Harry shook his head. “ _This_ is magic, Hermione. And I don’t trust it.” He hadn’t used magic since they’d gotten their jobs at the English school a year ago. While Hermione had continued to use charms on her hair for a bit, even that had eventually stopped. Neither had touched their wands in months. 

Harry had grown rather adverse towards the magical world in general. She didn’t blame him.

“Really,” he continued, “the only way we’ll ever be free is if we give up our magic entirely.”

Hermione stared at him with wide eyes. They’d both thought it, but she’d never expected him to ever  _ say _ it aloud. Did he really want to give up his magic? She eyed his tired, frustrated face and realized that while he wasn’t there yet, he was heavily considering it.

It was possible to give up one’s magic. Just a short spell and potion would completely bind it. Long ago, it was used as a punishment on magical people that would be cast from the Wizarding World. It stopped shortly after the ostracised individuals had fought back with the witch trials as their revenge. 

“It’s probably Luna or Neville,” Hermione said weakly, hoping to draw Harry’s mind away from the thought of abandoning magic altogether. She didn’t want him to make any rash decisions.

“And if it’s not?” He leaned forward. “They’re not the only ones with these galleons. Anyone could have found them and figured it out or  _ tortured _ the truth out of them. We have no idea what the state of Britain is right now.”

Hermione pressed her fingers against her temples. “Running feels like we’re abandoning them again. Like we’re abandoning our lives here.”

“France was never meant to be permanent,” he reminded her. She nodded sadly. “We can’t take the galleon with us.”

“No. They could track us with it.”

“Let’s mail it back to England and take the first plane out of France.”

“North or South America?” Both had been slowly buying a number of books on both of those continents for months now. It was always at the back of their mind that one day they might need to flee again.

“South America has more French-speaking countries, but they aren’t as diverse. I’d stick out like a sore thumb, at the very least.” Hermione nodded in agreement. While she wasn’t incredibly dark, due to the fact that her father was white, she would probably be able to blend in better than Harry. But she wasn’t leaving Harry behind. That wasn’t an option.

“Canada speaks French,” she said. “And their only magical communities are in Ottawa, Toronto, Montreal, and Calgary. As long as we stay away from those areas, we should be fine.”

Harry nodded. “Let’s pack up.”

* * *

They were on a plane and in the air within 48 hours.

Their flight took them to Dallas first, which was terrifying. Texas was a big place with lots of people. Harry and Hermione felt magicals around them for the first time in over a year. They were jumpy and uncomfortable the entire time. 

Harry wore a ball cap over his scar and head of messy black curls. He’d grown in a beard months ago that concealed his face. He was taller and far more muscled than the scrawny Chosen One that everyone would be looking for.

Hermione’s hair had been lightened considerably by the sun. It was almost entirely blonde in certain areas and while pulled back into a long braid, no one would spot her signature curls. She kept her wide-brimmed sun hat and sunglasses on the entire time they were in Dallas for their layover. 

They grabbed fast food and sat in one of the many cafeteria areas. The Dallas airport was a massive maze of multiple buildings and shuttles that led from one to the next. 

“Hermione,” Harry whispered. He squeezed her hand. Hermione looked up from the magazine she was reading. He nodded to the side. 

Hermione’s eyes flickered towards where Harry had directed. Two men were standing across the cafeteria. They were wearing long black robes and had mean looking faces. Hermione swallowed. She cursed in French.

“How’d they’d find us?”

“I didn’t have a tampon and you took my purse to buy food,” she whispered.

“What?”

She shot him a meaningful glare. “I didn’t have money for the machine. I used a spell.”

Harry cursed in French as well. “Stay here.”

She grabbed his hand before he could move. “Where are you going?”

“I need to lead them elsewhere. They can’t know that our flight is in this building. It’ll narrow things down too quickly.”

“We start boarding in twenty minutes.”

He leaned across the table and kissed her softly. “Go. I’ll meet you on the plane.”

“And if you don’t?” she demanded, on the verge of becoming hysterical.

“Then know that I love you more than anything.”

“ _ Harry _ …” He was gone a moment later. Hermione’s eyes filled with tears. She turned and watched the two wizards catch sight of Harry and follow him. She forced herself to stay seated. If she went after them, she’d only expose herself as well. Harry told her to stay. She had to stay. Being on the run together demanded trust. He couldn’t trust her if she didn’t first trust him.

Their flight was called and she grabbed their things. Her mind was in a daze as she boarded. She took her seat and stared forward down the aisle. She counted the seconds as she waited for him.

He had to be here.

He had to show up.

He couldn’t leave her.

She hadn't even told him she loved him too.

A sob tore from her throat when she saw his face amongst the mess of people filing down the aisle. She was in tears by the time he made it to her. Hermione shifted over to the seat one over and Harry sat down beside her. He pulled her into his arms.

“It’s okay. It’s okay.”

“What’s happened?” she sobbed. “Did you lure them away?”

“No.” She looked up, her watery eyes wide. “I took care of it.” She stared at him for a long moment. His jaw was clenched and his eyes hard. He looked like he was back in the war. Hermione felt her stomach twist. 

“I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “It was bound to happen eventually.”

“Not if we don’t have any magic to use,” she whispered.

Harry’s eyes flickered towards her. He wiped her tears away. “Enough of that, love.” He pulled her back into his chest. “I did get some information.”

“Oh?”

“They had some papers on them. I read as much of it as I could before I got rid of everything.” She tried not to think about just what that meant. How had he gotten rid of them? What had he done? She was certain he’d killed them, but what had he done with the bodies afterwards? “The ICW is in charge of Britain still. The half-bloods were released from Azkaban and the under-age muggle-borns. Lucius Malfoy was made Minister of Magic. I think he bought his way in.”

Hermione blinked rapidly as her mind spun. “We can never go back.” If Lucius was in charge, the very existence of Harry and Hermione threatened his position. They were living proof that the war against Voldemort happened and that Lucius had fought on the wrong side of it. The Ministry of Magic would never allow them to live with that sort of power over his head.

“We knew that already.”

“I hope everyone else is okay.”

“I think they’re fine,” he drawled. “The  _ Prophet _ they had on them was detailing the number of guests at Ginny and Draco’s wedding. Ron’s engaged to one of the Greengrass sisters.”

Hermione swore under her breath. She supposed if she wanted to be kind, she could claim they were just trying to survive in the new world order. But Hermione was a little sick to her stomach at the thought that their friends fit so easily in a world that willingly hunted down people they’d once claimed to love.

“Harry," she whispered. He hummed. "I love you too.”

He kissed the top of her head.

* * *

Within a year of living in a small, backwater town in Ontario, Luna and Neville found them. They were just walking down the street, heading to the farmer’s market for their weekly grocery trip when a small blonde woman threw herself into Hermione’s arms. 

“Luna?”

“Hermione,” she mumbled into the older woman’s arms. 

“Neville?” Harry squawked. 

“Harry, mate, is it good to see you.” Harry raised a hand before Neville could come closer. "You told me you thought you were in love with Hermione back when we were in fifth year, while we were heading back to Gryffindor Tower after a DA meeting."

Harry's eyes widened. " _Neville_."

He grinned. "Well, not you know it's me." They shook hands before they hugged like brothers. Luna finally pulled back, tears in her eyes. She smiled brightly at them. Neville turned to Hermione and his eyes widened. “Blimey, Hermione. Are you pregnant?”

Hermione’s brows drew together. She pressed a hand to her obviously pregnant belly. “No, Neville. I swallowed a watermelon.”

Harry grinned at her. “She’s still tetchy about it.” Hermione pursed her lips at him. He nodded to a pub down the street. “Let’s have a chat?” Luna and Neville agreed and the four of them quickly filed inside.

“So, you did send the galleon messages?” Hermione confirmed a little while later after the three had gotten their beers and Hermione a cup of tea.

Neville nodded. “Mostly, we wanted to make sure you were both okay. But you got rid of the galleons shortly after.”

“We couldn’t take any risks,” Harry said. Neville nodded. “What’re you doing here?”

Luna smiled. “Searching for new magical creatures. Canada has plenty.” Harry raised his eyebrows at her. “I followed the magic of the cloak. It’s the only magical artifact I knew you wouldn’t get rid of.”

Harry looked down with a sigh. She was right. Shortly after leaving Dallas, they’d gotten rid of most of their magical things. After settling down in Canada, they’d discarded the rest. His father’s cloak was the only thing he hadn’t had the heart to abandon.

“What’re you doing here?” Hermione asked.

“We just wanted to make sure you’re alright,” Neville assured. “And well… things are a bit rocky in Britain.” 

“Not our problem,” Harry immediately stated. 

“Come on, mate. Things have eased off. Sort of.” Harry raised an eyebrow. Neville made a pained face. “You’ve been labelled the darkest wizard to ever live. They claim that the entire war was your own fabrication to off Dumbledore and Voldemort." Harry wasn't surprised. They'd known he was going to get pinned for the war from the start. "There are rumours everywhere that you’re amassing an army to take over the British Wizarding War. The fear of it is the only thing that’s keeping Malfoy in power, really.” Neville raised his eyebrows like he half expected Harry to claim he  _ was _ building an army.

Harry shook his head. “I already fought in a war. That shit backfired on me the first time. I’m done. I’ve got other things to worry about now.” He looked pointedly at Hermione. “We’re about to have a baby. I’m not packing up to fight a war for people who actually think I’m a dark lord.”

“They don’t think that.” Neville made a face. “Well, not the Order. Not the ones that matter.”

“I can’t help you.”

Neville's eyes hardened. “Can’t? Or won’t?”

“Can’t,” Luna answered for them. She was holding Hermione’s hands on the table, playing with the golden band that circled her ring finger. “They can’t help us.” She looked up at both of them with wide blue eyes. “You got rid of your magic, didn’t you?”

Neville gasped.

Harry and Hermione didn’t respond. It was all the answer Luna needed. She nodded. “The baby won’t be magical either. The potions and spells cut off the ability to even pass on magical potential.”

“We know,” Harry said. “We looked into it heavily before we decided.”

Neville frowned at both of them. “That’s it? You’ve just given up on us?”

“No,” Harry snapped. “I’ve decided to give a crap about myself for once. All I’ve ever done and endured was for the Wizarding World. They can get fucked. I’m over it. I’ve been happier since I left than I’ve ever been in my entire life.”

Neville leaned across the table. “You’re not the only one who’s endured hardships.”

“Easy for you to say. You can go back to Britain without the fear of being slaughtered. You can move around the world and not be terrified someone will recognize you.” He gestured with his hand. “You want the mantle of the Chosen One? Fucking take it. It’s yours. I did my part. If you want to keep fighting, then I wish you the best of fucking luck. Let’s go.” He got out of the booth and helped Hermione to her feet. 

“Fuck you, mate,” Neville snapped, tears in his eyes as he stood as well. 

Harry sighed. “I can’t give you what you want, Neville. I can’t be the hero that I was before this all happened. Everyone has a breaking point.” He stared at his godbrother, his heart clenching at the betrayal on the other man’s face. “I hope they don’t find yours.” He turned to the small blonde beside Neville. “Goodbye, Luna. Take care of him.” Neville scoffed.

“I will. He won’t say it to you and we won’t see each other again, but know that he’s sorry. He and I love you both dearly.” She stood and pressed a kiss to Hermione’s cheek as she said her goodbyes. 

“Please, be careful,” Hermione whispered, tears in her eyes. 

Luna nodded. “You both should leave. I’m sorry we’ve ruined your hiding place.” 

Hermione shook her head. “I’ve been wanting to go elsewhere. It’s too dreary here.”

Luna pressed her hands against Hermione’s belly. “He’s going to look even more like James Potter than Harry does,” she told them.

It was the last time Harry and Hermione would ever see anyone from their old lives. Before they moved, Harry travelled to Ottawa and discreetly entered the magical world. He left the cloak in the Potter vault and instructed the goblins to seal it until a Potter heir returned to claim it. One day, he hoped, one of his descendants would return to the magical world.

* * *

“Mummy! Mummy, look!” Jamie raced across the cottage to his mother and held up his picture. He’d drawn her a picture of fairies. 

“It’s lovely, darling.” Hermione smiled and picked him up. She set the little four-year-old on the kitchen counter. “Let’s put it on the fridge, shall we?” She took the picture from her son and stuck a magnet on it to keep it in place.

“ _ Can we go to visit papa in town _ ?” Jamie quickly asked in French. 

“ _ Papa is working, Jamie. You know that. Besides, I can’t walk all the way there anymore _ .” She pressed a hand to her pregnant belly. The vague regret of no longer being able to apparate sprang up within her before she squashed it down. She was only ever regretful over her loss of magic when she was pregnant. She was too big to do so many things and nausea would be so much easier to bear if she had potions and spells to manage it.

As it was, Harry and Hermione had been happily living for over five years without magic. They’d moved after Luna and Neville left. They’d gone deep into the backwoods of Quebec, where Jamie was born. Not long later, they settled in PEI. The warm, island life-like summers were relaxing. The winters, while rather frigid and full of snow, were bearable when one looked outside and saw just how picturesque it was.

They had a small cottage a distance from Charlottetown, where Harry worked in construction. Hermione homeschooled Jamie and Rosie -- their two-year-old daughter. Another baby was on the way and both were excited about if it was going to be a boy or girl. 

The front door opened and Jamie practically vibrated from his seat on the counter. “Papa! Papa!” 

“Sh…” she scolded. “Rosie is napping, James.” She helped him down and the little boy raced off to greet his father. Hermione followed closely behind.

Harry was still taking off his winter gear when she made it to them. “Hey, love.” He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her lips. He peeled his heavy winter jacket off and hung it up in the closet.

“What’re you doing home?” she asked as he bent down and lifted Jamie into his arms. Harry pressed a loving kiss to the boy’s head of curly black hair. 

“There was an accident on site -- I’m fine,” he added quickly, forestalling her next question. “We were sent home for the day.” He toed off his boots and carried Jamie into the kitchen. Hermione followed closely behind him while he started making tea.

“That’s the third accident this month. I don’t like this job, Harry.”

“It pays well,” he argued. He set Jamie down at the table. 

“Which was important when we needed to buy a house instead of renting, but now we have one.”

“And we have  _ another _ baby on the way.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You say that like it’s my fault.”

“I did not,” he immediately denied. He hesitated. “But you did say you wanted another one.”

She huffed out a laugh. “Eventually.”

He smiled charmingly and shrugged. “Well, I’ve never been good about timing.” Hermione laughed. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. Her belly pushed against his abdomen. “I agree, though. I don’t like how hard this job works me. I’d rather have more time with you and the kids.”

She smiled happily at that and he kissed her slowly. 

“What were you thinking?” she whispered when he pulled back.

He shrugged. “Anything works for me.” His fingers touched her cheek. “Just so long as I get to see you every day.” This wasn't the life either of them was expecting, but it was better than they could have dreamed.

“I think I can make that work.” Jamie pulled on her dress. She wrinkled her nose at Harry. “But you’ll have to see the kids too.”

Harry laughed. “What a hardship,” he drawled teasingly. He turned to his son and roared like a dragon. Jamie squealed with delight and shot off deeper into the house. Rosie started crying. Hermione sighed.

Harry shot her a boyish, happy grin before he dashed off after James.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> It's the final night of Hanukkah! I've posted every single night of it -- eight nights in a row. And honestly, I'm wrecked. I likely won't post again until the New Year. See ya in 2021 ✌🏽


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